Warning: Ridiculous, nonsensical, plotless, looooong oneshot. With no plot. And no sense. Yeah... Interpretation of England and France that some may not like. And an OC. Who speaks in fragments. And gay stuff, don't forget about the gay stuff. I mean, he doesn't speak in 'gay stuff' but there's gay stuff in - you know what? Never mind. FrUK. Yay.
Arthur tended to work late on weekdays. All too often he would be home after dinner was well over, the dishes had been cleaned and replaced in their cupboard home, and sometimes after the boys had been tucked in for bed. He disliked those days the most, yet he couldn't just shirk his duty, now could he? His family understood.
Tonight was looking like one of those very late nights, and Arthur was already getting a rather large headache when suddenly his phone rang. It was his cell phone, and the ring-tone was all too familiar and made him groan just a little bit. Francis had been the one to set it that way and he'd never gotten around to changing it.
"What is it, Francis?" he asked in a slightly grouchy voice into the phone. He heard an annoyed sniff on the other end.
"Where are you, Arthur?" Francis demanded. "I had to come home from work early today to pick up Alfred, who is sick. I left you a message on your phone, twice, but you didn't pick up once, and it would be nice if you could at least call me to let me know that you are still alive." Good bloody god, Francis was such a drama queen.
"I'm sorry, Francis, but I was in a meeting, and before you say anything, yes, I did get your message," Arthur said through gritted teeth. "In fact, I had to step out to receive it. Did you turn my mobile on again before I left?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," Francis' voice came through the phone loftily and Arthur swore.
"You did, bollocks, I knew it was you!" he hissed. "Francis, do you understand how completely mortifying it is to be discussing economic standstills and the coming of the end of the fiscal year to suddenly be interrupted by Michael Buble? Francis, the whole meeting literally came to a halt. The whole meeting! What have you to say for yourself?" There was a pointed silence and Arthur almost thought he'd won, until…
"Alfred was vomiting on my shoes, Arthur," Francis spoke in a deadpan. "I would have loved to have been interrupted by Michael Buble." Arthur sighed and felt his annoyance spike into mild anger. If there was one good thing about Francis' late-night calls, it was that they gave him energy to finish his work quicker, even if it was energy that was a result of frustration.
"Anyway, do you know when you will be home?" Now Francis' voice just sounded stiff, and Arthur knew he was trying to sound stern and cold with him. Francis loved playing the guilt card.
"No," Arthur growled. "I don't, and it would please you to let me work without interruption, as that will quicken the process infinitely more than these incessant phone calls will."
"Fine. Finish whatever it is you need to finish." Arthur glared at the phone as if it were Francis himself. No! He would not be the one to give in this time! He was not the wrong one here, and he would not let Francis make him feel like he was.
"I will, thank you very much," he sniped.
"Fine."
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye." There was another silence and Arthur heard Francis' tense breathing for a few moments before the phone finally clicked off. He groaned and shut his own phone off and placed it angrily upon his desk.
"Bloody frog," he muttered to himself, returning to his work. "Giving me headaches all the bloody time."
A knock sounded at his door and he said absently, "Come in." The door opened, and his boss walked in, a tall man, taller than him, balding slightly, but with very sharp eyes. He was definitely fit for his job and he was a man whom Arthur respected very much.
"Mr. Kirkland," he said with a nod and a polite smile. "Are you quite finished?" Arthur shook his head, looking from one paper to the next on his desk, clearly preoccupied.
"I'm sorry, what?" he asked, looking up abruptly, when he realized the presence. His boss shook his head, appearing slightly amused, slightly annoyed.
"Did I hear you on the phone, just now, Mr. Kirkland?" he asked. Arthur rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, reaching his hands behind his head. He sent his boss a wry smile.
"It's the wife, sir," Arthur responded, knowing how Francis would hate the jab at his masculinity. His boss laughed.
"Ah, yes," he chuckled. "Unfortunate thing, that. Well, I asked, are you quite finished?" Arthur frowned down at the papers scattered across his desk.
"No, not quite, Mr. Randolph," he replied seriously. "I'm afraid this is all giving me quite a bit of trouble. But, not to worry, I'll finish it—"
"I think you should head home now, Mr. Kirkland," his boss cut across him. "I shouldn't even let you stay this late to begin with. I'll wager you'll get these done by the end of tomorrow at the latest, but for now a good night's rest is in order for you." He paused. "For me too, actually." Arthur pulled back his protests, seeing before they were made that they were futile, and simply acquiesced. Yes, perhaps some sleep would do him some good. Besides, it would be better to talk to Francis about this sooner rather than later. Much as he hated the thought.
Arthur arrived home to a quiet house. In the bedroom, Francis sat up against the headboard, ready for bed, reading a book. The look on his face told Arthur that it was certainly not a book he wanted his boys to find. Ever. Arthur shuddered as he entered his room and shed his jacket.
"Francis," he said softly, turning away as he unbuttoned his shirt. He hated it when he sounded unsure and looked it as well. Francis answered without looking up.
"Oui?" Francis purred. Oh, lord, what on earth was in that book? Arthur swallowed a little nervously. No matter how many times they went through this it never got any easier.
"How – how are the boys?" Here, Francis sighed and closed his book. He looked up at Arthur and took a moment to admire his view of the now naked torso his partner was displaying for him.
"Alfred is in bed, Mathieu is in the guest room and I frequently hear little tiptoeing steps to the bathroom," Francis replied. "I'm fairly certain it's just the flu that is going around school—"
"Could just be a nasty stomach bug," Arthur hypothesized, slipping on his pajama shirt and shucking out of his pants. Francis watched that too. Arthur ignored him determinedly. "Matthew told me another student had it a little while back. Could just be that taking its turns about the student body." As he pulled on his pajama bottoms, Francis shrugged and slid himself down so that his head was resting on his pillow. Arthur silently went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and relieve himself before returning to his and Francis' shared bed. Francis was quietly looking up at the ceiling. He looked incredibly close to falling asleep.
Arthur wordlessly slipped under the covers on the other side of the bed and breathed deeply, keeping his gaze from Francis' face. Francis' bedside lamp was still on and it was starting to bother Arthur, but he didn't want to ask Francis to turn it off. His voice, he just knew, would sound loud and grating to his ears in such a deep and pronounced silence. After an intense struggle of pushing and pulling, Arthur finally pushed himself up onto his elbow, leaned over Francis and turned the light off. Instantly, the room plunged into darkness before the hard opaqueness blended into a translucency very characteristic of the middle of the night.
Arthur looked down at Francis for a moment as Francis looked up at him. At almost the exact same moment, Arthur pulled away to his side of the bed and Francis turned onto his side. Facing away from each other, Arthur heard Francis whisper softly, "Bon nuit." To that, Arthur smiled and replied, "Good night."
Three days from that night, Arthur found himself with a sickness very similar to Alfred's, sans the vomiting. It seemed he was next in the rotation.
Well, Francis insisted that he stay home and refused to relent, even though Arthur put virtually all of his effort into convincing him to. After Francis left to head to his own job, Arthur sat in his favorite arm chair sulking for well over five minutes. Once that was done with, he went to his study and turned on his computer. While he was waiting for it to boot up, he called his boss and told him that unfortunately, he would be unable to come to work that day.
"Oh, that is unfortunate," his boss confirmed. "The reports are still here in your desk. I'm afraid I hadn't anticipated this." Arthur inwardly groaned.
"Well, it's only a small cold, sir," he said, trying to ignore how much it sounded like he was whining. "Perhaps you could bring them over when you have a moment? I could work on them from home." There was silence on the other end of the phone as Arthur waited with bated breath. Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes, good GOD I'm so fucking bored over here!
"I suppose it couldn't hurt for you to do a little bit of work on them…" his boss sounded uncertain.
"Yes, exactly!" Arthur agreed quickly. "I couldn't agree more." He heard a small chuckle on the other end of the line and waited for his boss' response.
"Alright, fine," he said. "But I won't be able to run them over to you until about noontime. You'll have to wait until then. Perhaps take the time to rest yourself up so you're ready." Arthur nodded, relieved that his boss had agreed, and bid him a hasty but respectful farewell.
Later, when lunch rolled around, Arthur had dressed himself fashionably (couldn't appear before his boss in his bathrobe) and was very prompt in answering the door when the front bell rang.
"Mr. Randolph," he said with a polite nod. "Come on in." He stood to the side of the door and allowed his boss, clad in his business suit, to enter his home. Mr. Randolph looked around, his face betraying nothing.
"Very nice home you have, Mr. Kirkland," he praised. "Very much as I expected your home to look like." Arthur chuckled professionally and smoothly led Mr. Randolph to his study.
"Well, sir, I think I'd better have a look at those reports you brought," he said mock seriously. His boss handed over the files with a twitch of his lips.
"Very close to being finished," he observed. "I worked on them myself a little bit before I left, I must confess." Before Arthur could respond, his boss cleared his throat and asked a very unusual question.
"Now, how about this spouse of yours?" he asked bluntly. "Any chance I'll get to meet Arthur Kirkland's famed significant other?" Arthur looked at him in surprise and saw that he was looking directly at a picture of Francis that made its home on the mantlepiece over the small electric fire place. He had a small grin on his face, which Arthur found slightly disconcerting, though he pushed the feeling aside and forced himself to answer.
"I'm not so sure, sir," he replied. "Francis doesn't normally come home for lunch." For which he was very thankful. Mr. Randolph nodded.
"So Frances is the name?" he clarified, the name rolling rather easily form his tongue. "Lovely name. Would it be impolite for me to inquire where she works?" Arthur blinked.
"She?" he asked weakly. Mr. Randolph nodded, looking confused.
"Your wife," he specified slowly. Arthur shook his head.
"You think he's a she?" he croaked, feeling his face heat in embarrassment and irritation. Mr. Randolph gave him an odd look.
"Isn't she?" Arthur sighed and brought a hand up to rub at his temple, shutting his eyes tight to stave off the approaching headache.
"Sir, are you serious?" he bit out incredulously. For a moment he and Mr. Randolph simply looked at each other, the silence around them growing tense and awkward. Finally, Mr. Randolph spoke.
"…Are you saying, Mr. Kirkland…" he began. "That you're… that this 'Francis' is a man?" Arthur nodded, looking very annoyed indeed.
"Yes," he virtually growled. "Francis is a man, I'm not legally married to him, and I am very much a poof – er, I mean, attracted to men – I mean… fuck, sir, I thought everyone at the office knew?" This was not exactly turning into the lunch date he had hoped it would be. Mr. Randolph shook his head slowly, his brow furrowed in a look Arthur recognized as one of deep contemplation. Arthur almost let his head drop into his hands but just managed to stop himself. Now was the moment when one of two things would happen: 1) Mr. Randolph would be completely alright with it and would laugh it off, or 2) his relationship with Arthur would immediately become awkward and strained and would remain so for virtually the rest of Arthur's career.
Well, damn.
"That you're… a homosexual?" Mr. Randolph finished in a maddeningly calm voice. Arthur nodded.
"Yes," he confirmed. "That I'm a homosexual. I was under the impression that everyone at work was aware of it." At this, Mr. Randolph smiled wryly and leaned back in his chair.
"Well, I am not exactly in the social loop, as some would say," he said with a spark of amusement in his voice. "My area of expertise is business, Mr. Kirkland. It hardly seems right to go poking my nose where it has not been invited to poke." Arthur only looked at him, his embarrassment all over his face. He gave no answer. His boss laughed and shook his head.
"Well, I can assure you, Mr. Kirkland, that it will not affect my opinion of you as a person, nor will it color my regard for you as a businessman," he pointed out. "If anything, it has only made me curious as to your mysterious life outside of the office, although I understand that, in that, it is not my place to pry." Arthur waved a dismissive hand and shook his head, relieved that his boss had chosen to laugh the incident off.
"No, it's fine, sir," he sighed. "I understand. I suppose it could be a bit hard to believe." Mr. Randolph raised his hand and lifted his eyebrows, leaning slightly forward as he prepared to interject.
"Only insofar as I've just discovered it," he corrected. "It is certainly not hard to believe once one acknowledges it as truth. But, again, this knowledge just makes me a bit more curious, something for which I apologize." Arthur laughed.
"You keep mentioning your curiosity," he observed. "What exactly are you curious about, Mr. Randolph?" The addressed smiled and rested an elbow on the arm of his chair, bringing his hand up to his chin.
"How long have you been committed to this Francis?" he asked. Arthur smirked and immediately saw Francis before his mind's eye, blonde wavy hair down about his shoulders, blue eyes alive with the influence of some French wine he had just consumed, clothes vibrant and immaculate even as he sauntered and swayed to some unknown and sensuous music that only he ever heard.
"Far too long," he moaned with a laugh. "There hasn't been a day that's gone by when I haven't wondered what in hell I'm doing." Mr. Randolph shared in the humor for a moment before he stopped himself and again leaned forward in preparation to inquire again.
"How did you meet him?" Arthur's smirk lessened slightly as he remembered a flamboyant French waiter purposefully spilling pathetically lukewarm tea onto his pants and attempting to clean it himself, smiling like a pervert the entire time.
"It was at a café and I'm pretty sure he was not sober," he responded sarcastically. Mr. Randolph's mouth twisted into an exaggerated and mock surprised frown and he inclined his head to the side, apparently considering Arthur's answer.
"Hm," he uttered after a moment, unusual expression still firmly in place. "And how did it ever become… love…? Between you?" He coughed a little as he said the word "love", and Arthur believed it was a quite frankly obvious attempt to hide amusement. He pushed that aside in favor of remembering the day he and Francis had yelled themselves hoarse to the point where there was really nothing left to do except begin making out.
"I'm convinced the room was dark when I asked him out," Arthur laughed. "Either that or I thought he was someone else. It was totally unexpected, I simply… did not see it coming." He paused at the undeniably soft tone his voice had taken, only to see his boss looking at him silently, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Well, not that I'm not having fun Mr. Randolph, but I believe that there are some reports that need finishing?" He tried to sound casual and Mr. Randolph allowed it, smoothly transitioning to the true reason of his visit.
"Right, I apologize," the apology came easily, and he reached into his briefcase and pulled out the files which were the reason Arthur was not in bed sleeping at the moment. "I come to finish reports for tomorrow and I end up interrogating you about your private life. Not very businesslike of me, I'm afraid. Well, anyhow, here they are, Mr. Kirkland." He placed the files on the desk before Arthur and drew his chair closer. "Now, if you'll look here, you'll see that I've done—"
He was interrupted by the loud opening of a door and an even louder cry of, "Arthur, I'm back!"
Arthur froze and cold dread swept through him as he recognized Francis' voice out in the hall. Shit!
"The man himself, I presume?" Mr. Randolph asked, eyes on the open study door as he stood to his feet, no doubt to greet the new arrival. Arthur shot up and placed a nervous hand on his shoulder.
"Oh, no, it's um… why don't you just—" He was interrupted by another call, this one far more embarrassing.
"Arthur! Cher, where are you? If I find that you have snuck your work home from the office, I will – merde!" Arthur heard a loud thump as Francis apparently dropped something midsentence.
"Oh, dear," Mr. Randolph exclaimed, shaking himself loose from Arthur's hold and moving towards the door. "Better go see if he needs any help." Before Arthur could stop him, he was already out in the hall on his way to the front room. Arthur stared after him in horror.
"This day could not get any worse," he whispered in despair to the heavens, his hands held out in a silent plea. He swiftly followed his boss to the front hall. He found him in the kitchen.
"Oh, merci, monsieur," Francis was gushing as Mr. Randolph carried two large brown bags to place on the countertop. "Had I known that I would receive such assistance I would have brought more bags!" He laughed his full and colorful laugh and Arthur gaped.
Mr. Randolph turned from the bags to smile at Francis, revealing a full set of pearly white teeth.
"Ah, well I understand that these bags can be a bit of a nuisance, sir," he replied good-naturedly. "Now, is there anything else with which I can help you?" Here he placed his hand upon Francis' upper arm and took a step towards him. Arthur's jaw dropped.
Francis responded with a seductive grin but made no other advances and only said, "I believe that takes care of all of my needs, monsieur. Now, if you would be so kind as to excuse me, I have other matters to which I must attend." With that, he stepped smoothly around Mr. Randolph and walked over to his thunderstruck partner and gave him a chaste but lingering kiss. "Bonjour, Arthur, I see you are up and about. I take it that means you did—"
Arthur, who had not been listening to a word that was said, suddenly reached out to grab Francis and pulled him quickly around the corner.
"What the hell was that!" he demanded in a forceful whisper, jabbing his finger back towards the kitchen. Francis looked from the kitchen to Arthur and shrugged expectantly.
"What do you mean?" he asked in an uncaring drawl. Arthur almost slapped him.
"I mean, frog, what the hell were you getting all touchy-feely with my boss for!" he specified slightly louder. France simply looked at Arthur but Arthur could feel him smirking.
"I didn't touch him once, mon cher, I only thanked for helping me carry the bags and that was all," Francis insisted, folding his arms. Now, he was not bothering to hide his smirk and Arthur really wanted to smack him.
"I certainly didn't see you pushing him away," Arthur hissed through gritted teeth.
"I was merely shocked by his forwardness."
"His forwardness?"
"Oui."
"…You French son of a bitch."
"Bastard British rosbif."
"Something wrong out here?" Arthur jumped and whirled around to see Mr. Randolph standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the wall as he looked between Arthur and Francis. Arthur immediately hurried away from Francis and attempted to shoo his boss into the kitchen.
"No, everything is fine, Mr. Randolph, just peachy really, in fact, why don't we head into the kitchen for some tea—" he rambled, urging his boss away from the Frenchman as quickly as he could.
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid we haven't been introduced in all the chaos of the dropped bags," Mr. Randolph said as though he hadn't heard Arthur, moving around him and walking back over to Francis. Arthur slumped in defeat and glowered as Mr. Randolph extended his hand.
"James Randolph," he said. "I'm sure you've already deduced by now that I am Mr. Kirkland's employer." Francis smiled charmingly and reached out his own hand to shake Mr. Randolph's.
"Francis Bonnefoy," he replied. "And I see that you have already deduced that I am Monsieur Kirkland's lover." Mr. Randolph nodded, holding onto Francis' hand a little longer than necessary, Arthur noted.
"Yes, indeed, and I've heard quite a bit about you, Mr. Bonnefoy, from my employee over there," his boss tossed his head in Arthur's direction, but Arthur noticed that neither of them actually looked in his direction. "Very good at his job, that one. You should see him at it, sir, on a good day… well, sometimes we end up quite ahead of schedule."
"Oui, I imagine he is very… vigorous when it comes to his work." This time, Arthur quite clearly caught the flicker of blue eyes towards him and he managed not to look away, despite the distinctly lecherous flicker burning within them.
"Alright, Mr. Randolph, if you will remember, I believe there was something that requires our attention, so, if you will follow me." He tried to be calm and businesslike about it, he really did, but it was so very difficult to be businesslike with Francis virtually eye-fucking his boss. The sight of it made his stomach turn a bit. Francis and James Randolph just did not mesh and he would appreciate it if Francis would leave well enough alone. He would have to talk to him about it later.
"Actually Arthur, could I speak to you for a moment, sil vous plait?" Francis spoke up, stepping around Arthur so as not to be ignored. Arthur desperately wanted to say no, but Francis was already leading him off to the bedroom, and before he knew it, the door was being closed and Francis was looking at him irately, one eyebrow lifted, arms folded across his chest.
"Could you please explain to me why your boss is here?" he asked in a voice that sounded snobby to Arthur. "I thought you told me that today you were just going to rest and take it easy?" Arthur rolled his eyes.
"No, you made me tell you that I was going to rest and take it easy," he retaliated. "It's just a bloody cold, Francis, it's not like my eyes are bleeding out or anything, why on earth do you insist on being so overbearing about the whole thing! I have work that needed to be done yesterday and I have the opportunity to finish it today without going to the office, why can I not take advantage of that opportunity?"
"Because you are ill and need to rest!" Francis squawked, throwing his hands into the air. Arthur shook his head and looked stubbornly at Francis.
"Wrong answer, Francis," he protested. "Now, I'm going to go finish those reports, and you'd better well learn to live with it because I'm doing something I'm not likely to do in a very long time." He pushed past Francis and headed out into the hall and just barely heard Francis' call to him.
"And what would that be?" He sounded very annoyed. Arthur did not turn back as he called his answer, sounding very firm despite the phlegm in his throat.
"Compromising."
He finished the reports by the time the kids were home from school.
The next time his boss came over to his house was the very next week when he left something at the office. Arthur was very much recovered by now, and was surprised, to say the least, at the sudden appearance of Mr. Randolph at his home, but he wasn't one to turn him away.
After inviting him inside, he asked his boss if he would like to have a quick cup of tea to which Mr. Randolph agreed. So, they sat in his study with their tea, and everything seemed alright until Francis came into the room to deliver them some freshly baked pastries.
"I don't know what Arthur sees in this recipe but I can't get him to have anything else I make," Francis chattered. "And he's usually the one who makes these anyway, no matter how many times I tell him to stay away from my kitchen, he always ends up right back by the oven, apron on, cookbook in hand, don't you Arthur?" He smiled and Arthur glared, knowing this to be retribution for the week earlier. He avoided Mr. Randolph's eyes. He did not want to see the look on his boss's face at the moment.
"Yes, thank you, Francis, that will be all," he spat in a low voice, warning very clear. Francis turned to leave.
"Mr. Bonnefoy, are these your recipe?" Mr. Randolph asked, examining one of the pastries. Immediately, Francis turned back and leaned over Mr. Randolph, taking the pastry from his hands.
"Ah, non, monsieur," he answered. "They are apparently Arthur's mother's recipe, though I can't understand why he always manages to butcher it—"
"That's enough, Francis," Arthur growled, getting up to push Francis from the room. Francis made a face at him over his shoulder but shut the door behind him nonetheless. Arthur sat down again, relieved that Francis hadn't put up a fuss. Mr. Randolph chuckled as he took a bite of the scone.
"Well, Mr. Kirkland, you have a very energetic significant other," he remarked, clearly very amused. Arthur shook his head and snatched one of the scones for himself. He bit down into the crusty pastry and scowled. How the hell did Francis always manage to get it just right? He grabbed another one for seconds.
"Don't remind me," he groaned. "Now, again, I'd like to—"
"Arthur!" Francis' voice carried through the door and this time Arthur let his face fall into his hands.
"What now?" he mumbled to himself. Standing to his feet he sent an apologetic look to Mr. Randolph. "I apologize for the inconvenience, sir. But I'd better go and—"
"Oh, no, Mr. Kirkland, it's quite alright," Mr. Randolph assured him, standing to his feet as well. "I'm afraid it was quite an imposition, having your employer drop by unexpectedly during the evening. I understand if it would make Mr. Bonnefoy uncomfortable. In fact, I do have somewhere else I need to be at the moment, so I shall excuse myself, if you don't mind?" Arthur nodded somewhat sheepishly and moved to show Mr. Randolph to the door.
Before he got there, Francis ran out to him and grabbed his arm. He looked slightly frazzled.
"Didn't you hear me calling you?" he demanded. "I called three times, Arthur, I need you in the kitchen!" He began to tug Arthur in the kitchen's direction and Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Randolph stepped forward and placed a calming hand on Francis' back. Francis stopped pulling and Arthur stared.
"Mr. Bonnefoy, I don't believe you need to be upset with Mr. Kirkland, here," he said in a placating voice. "I was the one who dropped by at a, quite frankly, inconvenient moment, so I shall take the responsibility for his apparent lack of response. I see no reason to be angry, in fact I'll be heading on my way now, and I thank you very much for the scones." Francis nodded with a slightly forced smile and Arthur tried to look subtly around at the hand that was still on his back (was Mr. Randolph rubbing circles on Francis' back?). Before Francis could respond, Arthur was stepping forward and forcing Francis away from his boss and that hand.
"Well, thank you very much for returning my coat, Mr. Randolph," Arthur said stiffly, giving a sideways look to his boss. "And now, if you'll excuse me." He turned and ushered Francis away before his boss could say a word and blocked from his mind the image of his boss so obviously making a pass at his partner.
Somewhere along the way to the kitchen, they switched roles and it was Francis who was doing the ushering now, pulling Arthur quickly to the kitchen.
"I think Mathieu has caught that flu, Arthur," he said seriously. Arthur's brows furrowed and he pulled himself free from Francis' hold to walk alongside him.
"How long has he had it?" Arthur asked. Francis shook his head and worried his lower lip.
"I haven't noticed anything until today," he said. "Which worries me because Alfred said he vomited earlier today at school."
"Well, why didn't he go to the nurse?" Arthur asked incredulously. Francis looked at Arthur with slightly defensive eyes.
"I don't know," he snipped. "At this point, I don't know anything more than you do." Arthur forced himself to keep his mouth shut and finished the power-walk to the kitchen in silence.
When they arrived, Arthur did indeed see that Matthew was not well. According to Francis he was in the bathroom with Alfred, who surprised everyone by being very supportive and helpful. The mess on the floor was partially cleaned and Francis looked at Arthur with imploring eyes. Arthur did a double take and looked back at Francis disbelievingly.
"Really, Francis?" Francis didn't say anything, only continued to look at Arthur. Arthur rolled his eyes and went to clean the mess. Honestly, Francis really needed to work on his aversion to cleaning anything that didn't have to do with dishes.
Arthur grumped and huffed as he set about cleaning the floor while Francis made a show of cleaning the dishes in the sink and avoided looking at Arthur.
"Really, Francis, you have children, this is going to be happening in the future. What if I'm not around to clean everything up for you then, eh, Francis?" Arthur challenged, glaring at the Frenchman. "How ever will you manage?"
"I shall hire a maid," Francis answered pointedly. A scoff was his answer and he sent an icy look over his shoulder.
"Yeah, over my dead body." The mumbled response made Francis scoff in return and he hurried around Arthur to the bathroom, Arthur watching him carefully.
Well, he may have been a lazy arse, but at least he was a lazy arse who cared about their children.
The illness seemed to persist longer in Matthew than it did in Alfred and Arthur was worrying increasingly over his son's welfare. So far, Matthew had been absent from school for a grand total of four days and seemed to be getting no better.
So, Arthur and Francis agreed that they would each take half the day off from work to watch Matthew, and would rendezvous at lunch before switching posts. Francis would take the morning and Arthur would take the afternoon.
That morning, Francis pulled himself from bed and trekked to his son's bedroom after bidding Arthur goodbye and promising to call him if anything went terribly awry. Arthur got himself ready for work and departed.
He managed to keep Matthew's sickness from his mind for the most part, but it showed enough in his countenance that day tho attract the attention of several of his colleagues, including his boss.
"Mr. Kirkland, is everything alright?" Mr. Randolph asked, poking his head through the office door. Arthur gave him an inquisitive look and shuffled his papers against his deck with a clean klak sound. He'd always loved that sound.
"Of course, sir, did I give the impression that something was wrong?" That wouldn't do, would it? Arthur knew that, once someone's health was in question, his office could turn into a pen full of mother hens. His boss was no exception.
"You seem a bit detached, Mr. Kirkland. It seems as though you are preoccupied with something?" Mr. Randolph took a politely tentative step into the room, inviting Arthur to ask him to leave if it behooved him. Arthur did not.
"I apologize, sir, my son is ill and I'm afraid it's taking up quite a bit of my attention," he admitted. "Although, I promise you, it is not affecting my ability to work, nor is it affecting the level of my work." Mr. Randolph tilted his head in a way that Arthur interpreted to be understanding. They waited in silent growing tension for the other to say something and Arthur took that moment to very clearly avoid his boss' eyes.
"Actually, sir, there was something regarding that that I would like to ask you," his voice sounded firm, thankfully, and gave the impression, even to himself, that he was not uncomfortable in this situation. "Francis and I have agreed that we would each take half a day to watch Matthew, and I am going to take the second half of the day around noontime to head back home. So, I was wondering if that would be possible—"
"Quite alright, Mr. Kirkland, take all the time you need," he said. "Do you need a ride back?" Red flags jumped up in Arthur's head so fast, he was surprised they didn't poke through his brain. He fixed his eyes suspiciously upon Mr. Randolph's too-innocent-to-be-sincere face and stood a little warily to his feet.
"No, thank you, Mr. Randolph, I've got everything covered," he said firmly. "And I'm not so sure that Francis would be comfortable with guests when our son is ill." Immediately, Mr. Randolph sensed the extreme hesitance of his employee to accept his offer and backed off.
"Well, that's understandable, Mr. Kirkland, I suppose you'll just let me know when you're about to leave and that'll be that," he complied, smiling tactfully. Arthur nodded tersely and he left the room.
When the time came for Arthur to leave, he went to Mr. Randolph as he said he would and alerted him:
"Mr. Randolph, I'll be heading off now, sir," Arthur said. "I shall see you tomorrow."
"Yes, thank you, Mr. Kirkland, I hope your son recovers," his boss replied. "Tomorrow, then." Arthur left quickly, unusually eager to get away from his office and back to his house.
When Arthur arrived home, Francis had lunch ready for him and was sitting at the table ready to leave. Arthur hung up his coat and took his seat across from Francis.
"How's Matthew?" he asked. Francis paused in bringing his food to his mouth and breathed deeply.
"Sleeping," he replied. "I haven't had to take him to the bathroom once since last night. I'm hoping it's a good sign." He looked hopeful and Arthur smiled and nodded.
"We'll see," he conceded.
"So how was work this morning?" Francis asked.
"Fine," Arthur responded. "Mr. Randolph offered me a ride home, which I thought unnecessary." Unnecessary and unexpected and unsolicited. Arthur looked over to see Francis' reaction and was surprised to find that it was one of amusement. Arthur blinked in confusion.
"Oh, I'll bet he did," Francis mused in a deep voice. The sound of it rendered Arthur a bit taken aback. He made sure not to hide his very serious perplexity and stared openly at Francis, who was smirking behind his drink. "Your boss is a very interesting young man, Arthur." Arthur was glad that there were several layers of muscle, skin, and a nice hinge preventing his jaw from dropping to the floor.
"What the hell, Francis!" he spluttered. "Is there something going on here that I should know about?" He put on his best "tell me right now or so help me god!" face but all it succeeded in doing was making Francis' eyes sparkle with even more mirth.
"Probably," he shrugged. "But I'm not exactly sure what it is, myself. When I figure it out I shall be sure to tell you." His lunch finished, Francis rose from his chair and leaned over to peck Arthur's lips. He took his dishes over to the sink and began to clean them, humming tunelessly to himself. Arthur watched him in a mild daze for a moment before a splash and an uttered, "Sacre bleu!" pulled him back to reality. Standing to his feet abruptly, he strode over to Francis and looked him right in the eye.
"What does that mean, Francis?" he demanded. Francis barely looked at him.
"What?" he asked sweetly. Arthur lost count of the times he wanted to slap this man.
"Don't give me that, bastard, you know very well what!" he shouted, his voice rising slightly in octave. "You don't just get to say something like that and then walk away! Now tell me what on earth you were referring to!" Francis only smiled and kissed him again, quickly drying his hands and grabbing his coat from the closet.
"Adieu!" he called as he walked the door. Arthur was left by the sink, staring in stupefied fury after Francis.
"Stupid frog!" he called at the closed door. "Dumb wine-loving monkey." Insulting Francis always made him feel better at times like this, so he spent the walk to Matthew's room coming up with colorful and creatively scathing slanders he could use when Francis returned.
"Hey, there, champ," he announced softly once he reached his son's room, knocking lightly on the door to announce his presence. "Can I come in?"
"Hi, daddy."
"Mr. Kirkland, how is your son?" Arthur looked up as Mr. Randolph walked into his office and closed the door behind him. He drew his lips into a civil smile and looked back down to his work.
"He's getting much better, Mr. Randolph," he replied, continuing to look over the files before him. "Thank you for asking." Mr. Randolph nodded and walked forward, either oblivious to the hint to leave or blatantly ignoring it.
"I'm sorry that it was of such pressing concern that it called you home so abruptly," his boss continued, crossing around his desk to look out the window that was behind it. Arthur, curious, glanced up at him, choosing to remain silent. Mr. Randolph was not one to act like this normally.
Mr. Randolph released a breath through his nose and unlocked his hands from their strict and professional place at his back, allowing them to dangle casually by his side.
"I am glad that everything has sorted itself out, though," he mused. Arthur now ceased all of his work and was watching his boss with obvious confusion.
"Yes," he agreed slowly. "As am I." Mr. Randolph turned so that he was facing Arthur and his face adopted an unreadable expression. Arthur held his look without any trouble but found it more than a little disconcerting.
"And your Francis Bonnefoy?" he asked suddenly. "How is he?" Arthur felt his hackles rising at the inquiry and turned to fully meet this unusual confrontation head-on.
"Well enough, sir," he said tightly, his lips thinning as he spoke. Mr. Randolph's brow furrowed and he bowed his head contemplatively once before walking slowly over to Arthur's chair.
"I understand that you two are not necessarily on the best of terms at the moment, Mr. Kirkland?" He posed the statement as a question but Arthur could feel that somehow it was not meant to be contradicted. He contradicted it.
"I'm not exactly sure if I would go that far, sir—" he began.
"And I also understand it that the majority of your relationship consists of those rather volatile exchanges I saw those few times I visited your home," Mr. Randolph continued, plowing over Arthur's argument. Again, Arthur tried to defend himself and Francis.
"Not really, sir, you're actually completely misunderstanding—" Mr. Randolph waved an impatient hand and moved to stand beside the chair, leaning against the desk and looking somewhat furtively at Arthur.
"Mr. Kirkland, you don't have to cover it up, I know exactly how these relationships fail—"
"What? Fail?" Arthur cut in, getting to his feet indignantly. "I have no idea what you're getting at, sir, but I would ask that you stop right there." Mr. Randolph pushed himself away from the desk and moved towards Arthur, inciting Arthur to retreat from him.
"Mr. Kirkland, I have seen the way you interact with this apparent significant other of yours," Mr. Randolph explained, his voice a far cry from his usual professional deadpan and now taking on an entirely new and altogether unwelcome tone. "You are constantly at each other's throats, you can't stand to mention him with me or anyone else without dropping a scathing remark concerning his whatever-the-hell-it-may-be at the moment, you stay late every single night, and you always try to get him off the phone whenever he calls you. Hell, even now you're having trouble not cringing at the mere mention of him. How else am I supposed to take that?" He continued advancing and Arthur continued retreating, looking over his shoulder occasionally to make certain he was not going to trip over anything. He gawped as his boss finished this speech.
"What do you mean—"
"Mr. Kirkland, I cannot begin to keep track of the number of times you have insulted Mr. Bonnefoy to me—"
"What, are you talking about all those questions you asked me about him?" Arthur rubbed his forehead as he realized what Mr. Randolph was referring to. "Mr. Randolph, I didn't mean half of it—"
"And the half you did mean?" Mr. Randolph was looking at him like the cat that got the canary and Arthur did not like it.
"Mr. Randolph, are you presuming to tell me you think my marriage to this man—"
"You aren't legally married to him, Arthur."
"That's Mr. Kirkland, sir, and in that case, maybe I'll just get married to him so I can call it a marriage!" He stopped retreating suddenly and jerked his head as though clearing it.
"Alright, alright," he forced himself to say. "Sir, to be perfectly frank, my life outside of this office is no concern of yours in any sense, so—" But Mr. Randolph was not finished.
"And quite frankly, Mr. Kirkland," he smoothly interjected. "I have seen the way you act with him whilst I am there with the both of you, and every single time something may have been brought up regarding the nature of the relationship between Mr. Bonnefoy and myself—"
"There is no relationship between Francis and yourself," Arthur growled, fists clenching tightly at his sides. Mr. Randolph lifted a finger and jabbed it neatly at Arthur's chest.
"You see?" he declared as though he had just come to an amazing revelation. "Every time something like that happens, you can't wait to get me away from him, or discredit anything that implies something more than a strictly business relation between us two." Arthur took a moment to stare at Mr. Randolph before roughly grabbing his finger and throwing it from his person.
"Well, I think that rather makes sense, don't you?" he sneered. "I am living with the bastard, whether or not our relationship fits your standards of what's good and healthy, I would think that it's obvious why seeing you or he flirting with each other would make me uncomfortable." Mr. Randolph looked down with a sigh as though Arthur was a stubborn child refusing to understand an important lesson.
"I honestly can't tell if you're waiting for me to take the initiative or if you're really unaware of what is happening right now," he said with a wry smile. "Apparently, you seem keen on my making the first move, so to speak, so I suppose there is nothing for it." Taking a second to gather his bearings, he looked back up at Arthur and put him completely on edge with the intensity in that look.
"I am not ashamed to admit that I am very attracted to you, Mr. Kirkland," he said, causing Arthur to stumble over his own two feet in shock. "And I have found that your behavior these past several weeks can be seen as nothing but your reciprocation of my feelings."
"WHAT!" Despite the fact that Arthur did indeed see that coming, he most definitely did not see that coming. Mr. Randolph waited patiently for him to collect himself and then lifted his eyebrows expectantly. But Arthur couldn't speak; he could only stand frozenly before him.
"Wh – but, you – I – what on – sh – what the hell!" he finally bit out. Mr. Randolph had the nerve to chuckle, apparently finding it all very amusing.
"I was under the impression that you were married to a woman, Mr. Kirkland, and were very heterosexual, and I confess that when you told me you were actually in a homosexual relationship, I was a little hopeful," he explained, obviously finding Arthur's silence a demand to give an explanation. This admission brought Arthur out of his stupor.
"Mr. Randolph, ignoring the fact that this is all extremely inappropriate," he began, his voice cracking as a result of his nerves. "I'm still quite sure that I don't know when I ever gave you any signal that I was interested in… that… with… you." Mr. Randolph nodded in a comprehending way and brought his hands to the small of his back.
"Your jealousy was never exactly well concealed whenever I was interacting with Mr. Bonnefoy," he pointed out, as though running down a list he'd made and reviewed multiple times in his mind. "You flirted quite blatantly with me even when the topic of discussion was Mr. Bonnefoy or even when we were at your home where he was quite present. I've never received a cross word from you in all our years working together, and you always seem amenable to my company. Need I go on?" Arthur found himself infused with anger in the face of this incredible claim to know his feelings.
"Yes you do!" he declared, walking forward and shoving roughly at Mr. Randolph's shoulder, forcing his surprised boss back a step. "Because I am unconvinced that any of what you just said proves any attraction I have to you! It's all bloody speculation! Speaking easily with the man who employed me is not flirting; if anything, it's called sucking up. Not speaking crossly with you does not hint at my romantic partiality towards you, it means I've bottled away any feelings of anger I've felt towards you in favor of keeping my job.
"And as for the jealousy, well!" Arthur paused and gave Mr. Randolph a wide-eyed glare. "The jealousy I might feel while you're in the presence of Francis and constantly making passes at him, yes, I can find absolutely no other reason for that than my desire for you! You can sense the sarcasm, yes? You were hitting on my partner, of course I'm going to get a little miffed!" Not that I need to tell Francis that… "No wonder I don't get where you're coming from, these so-called signals are so obviously not that that it didn't even occur to me!"
Yelling at his boss was surprisingly cathartic and not at all guilt-inducing, at least regarding only the part where his boss hit on his partner and tried to indirectly get him jealous. And seeing that shell-shocked look on his face was also incredibly satisfying. It was also flattering to Arthur that his boss found him more attractive than Francis. And he wasn't even trying to be seductive, where Francis was the one batting his eyelashes and getting all flirty. Take that Mr. I'm-too-sexy-for-this-whole-fucking-world-Francis.
He really had to find some enjoyment to garner from this situation, as his handling of it would most likely get him fired, and then he would be without a job and he would have to start the fuck over, which was really not something he wanted to do.
So Arthur tried to bask in the good feelings he got from this instead of dwelling in all the possible consequences, which, unfortunately for him, were far more numerous.
His boss stood across from him, eyes very round and face very red. Arthur guessed it was most likely from embarrassment, or maybe anger or indignation. He didn't look quite ready to speak and Arthur had suddenly run out of things to say when he was crushed by the epiphany that, hey, this was his boss he was chewing out as being a gay home-wrecker. So, they stood in the office in silence, staring at each other, both lost in the calamity of the situation.
Arthur would really have loved to have turned around and left the office, but his boss stood between him and his desk, which was where his coat was, and his coat held his keys and his wallet.
Mr. Randolph cleared his throat and tried to speak, and Arthur froze again, fearing what he would say. But his boss only managed to open his mouth for a few seconds before he closed it again, finding no words. Arthur waited with bated breath, wondering whether or not this was the end of his career.
"Mr., um, Kirkland," his boss finally managed. "I think that will be all for today…. I shall see you tomorrow, prompt and ready to go." It was a valiant effort and Arthur respected the attempt.
"Yes, sir, very well," he said stiffly. "And, uh, if you don't mind, I think I'll… I think I'll head home, now, sir, I've – I've got to check on the kids, you know." He avoided Mr. Randolph's eyes to the point of pain.
"Of course, of course," Mr. Randolph responded in a voice that said to Arthur that he was trying to avoid visual confrontation as well. "I understand, Mr. Kirkland, take the rest of the day to, um, to see to your affairs… and I'll – I'll see you tomorrow." Arthur nodded and tersely stepped around Mr. Randolph to grab his coat, putting it on so that his face was hidden.
"Very good, Mr. Randolph," he said gruffly. "Tomorrow then, sir." Mr. Randolph made an odd noise, as though he was about to speak again, thought better of it, and left the room, shutting the door impossibly quietly. Arthur listened to the footsteps until he couldn't hear them anymore and afterwards, and then heavily released his breath, slumping down in relief.
"Ugggh," he moaned, hitting his head against his desk repeatedly. "That was the most fucking embarrassing moment of my bloody life." He would have continued berating himself had his cell phone not rung. Drawing him out of his temporary masochism, his cell phone blasted that same bloody tune that Francis always set it to whenever he could manage. Arthur glared at it and grabbed it violently from his desk.
"What do you want?" he growled, not at all in the mood for any of Francis' shenanigans. He heard a sneeze on the other end, followed by a very pitiful sounding swear.
"Arthur?" Francis' voice sounded wet and quieter than normal. Almost against his will, Arthur found himself worrying the tiniest bit for the blasted idiot. "I think it is my turn to be ill now." He sure sounded it. Arthur removed the receiver from his ear and groaned into his arm. He tried to calm himself as much as possible before he responded.
"So, Matthew's better, then?" he asked.
"Mhm," Francis replied. "He went back to school today. Shortly after, unfortunately, I found that I had quite a temperature. How late are you staying today?" Way to be obvious, Francis.
"I'm actually headed home now," Arthur said, hoping Francis wouldn't ask why. "I thought maybe you could use some help with Matthew, but I see that – well, I'll just be home a little earlier today." He hung up the phone, aware that he sounded rather snippy, but also unconcerned by it. It seemed that the whole world was out to get him that day and he was just not in the mood for it.
When Arthur walked through the door, he saw Francis in the kitchen, donned in a bathrobe, armed with a spatula, and looking rather flimsy with his pasty face and baggy eyes. He sneezed into his arm as a greeting and Arthur bit back a snipe. It wasn't Francis' fault that he was sick now. Unless he's in cahoots with the big man and scheduled it just so that it would be inconvenient for me.
"Well, you look terrible," he observed as he hung his coat in the closet. Francis scoffed at him to cover a sniffle.
"Thank you for that, monsieur Obvious, is there anything else you would like to say?" Clearly Francis was not in the mood for any idiocies either and Arthur carefully refrained from speaking without thinking in order to keep at least one foot out of his mouth.
"Sorry," he mumbled. Again, Francis scoffed, carefully scraping at the fluffy eggs in the pan, and ignoring Arthur as he made his way over to him.
Leaning back against the counter, Arthur gave Francis a quick sideways look and then suddenly devised a very reckless plan to see if he couldn't get a rise out of him.
"So, my boss said some very interesting things to me today," he started, wondering if Francis would bite. At first, the only sound he heard was the scraping of the spatula against the pan and the hiss of the stove.
"Oh?" Arthur knew that tone of voice. That was the lethal "I'm going to be civil and listen to you right now but you damn well better know that I'm not happy about it" tone. Francis rarely used it, which made it one of the most feared things in the entire household. But Arthur would not back down.
"Yes," he said, trying to sound casual. "Well, first he expressed his well wishes for Matthew, which was very kind of him. But after that, he made some very untoward… advances." He looked subtly at Francis again and noticed the minute perk of his head, a sure sign that he was interested, sick or not.
"Oh?" Arthur mentally sagged in relief. The deadly tone was gone from his voice and now he was simply trying to cover up curiosity. Much better for Arthur. He continued, heartened by the change in the atmosphere.
"Yeah, he said that he was – um—" Now came the difficult part. At first, mentioning this was only a part of his plan to get Francis to talk to him, but now he couldn't just back out and not tell Francis – as much as he would like to. If he were to put on a truly convincing show, he would have to tell Francis everything, and he really did not want to deal with that, thank you very much.
Oh, but Francis already suspected something by now. Good going, chap. Way to shoot yourself in the foot, while simultaneously digging your own grave. Why don't you just shag Francis in front of the kids! That would be less embarrassing! …Forget I thought that…
Arthur bit his lip in frustration before forcing himself to soldier on. He was British, dammit! He couldn't let himself be defeated by something like this!
"Yes, Arthur?" Francis was facing him now, arms folded, spatula looking like a weapon in his hand as he waited with raised eyebrow for Arthur to answer.
"Yeah, well, he," he took a deep breath. "He said he was attracted to me." As he said it he clamped his eyes shut and waited for Francis to reply. When he heard nothing but silence, and when he opened his eye a crack, he saw that Francis' face was far from angry or upset. On the contrary it looked… thoroughly amused.
What the fuck?
"And?" Francis prompted. "Go on." What the hell was with that tone? Arthur only ever heard that tone when Francis was feeling like a pervert. Still, he forged onward.
"He – he told me that he'd been interested in me ever since he learned that I was gay and with you, and that he thought I was attracted to him—" He stopped abruptly as he heard a very familiar and violently hated laugh coming from Francis. Francis turned away from him to hide it but the damage was done. Arthur gawked in shock at the laughing idiot of a froggy Frenchie.
"…You KNEW!" he shrieked. "Bloody hell, Francis, you knew he was interested!" Francis stopped trying to cover it up and outright laughed now, a cough finding its way out of him every few moments. Arthur found that the power of speech left him and all he could do was stand there spluttering wishing that he had something in his hands with which to bludgeon Francis into nonexistence.
"Desole, Arthur, desole!" Francis cried breathlessly through his coughing laughter. "I'm sorry, I just can't help but…" He trailed off and laughed harder. Arthur's face began to heat and the embarrassed anger that pervaded his being quickly morphed into pissed off anger and he reached out and grabbed a pink fluffy shoulder.
"What the FUCK, you bloody French frogface!" he roared. "What the bloody fuck is your blasted PROBLEM! You're supposed to tell me things like this, you wine-guzzling SNAIL! I can't bloody BELIEVE YOU, so you just see this whole time that some slime is trying to get into my pants and you just sit there and LET IT HAPPEN! WHAT THE HELL!" Perhaps it was the colorful insults flying from Arthur's mouth, perhaps it was the way he phrased that particular accusation, but Francis only laughed harder. Even when Arthur finally gave in to temptation and smacked him soundly, he only laughed harder.
"Oh, Arthur, stop, I can't breathe!" he laughed, clutching at his stomach. "Just – just wait!" Arthur glared and smacked him again for good measure, ignoring how it still fed the fire of hilarity spouting from Francis.
Minutes later, when Francis finally managed to calm down, he wiped his eyes and turned to face Arthur, who was grouching and fuming across from him like a boiling tea kettle, ready to boil over for a second time if he felt it necessary. Francis held up his hands in a peace gesture, small chuckles still escaping his lips.
"Now, hold on, Arthur," he said in his scratchy and hoarse voice. "I did not realize what he was doing until the time he came here with your coat." Arthur hesitated and then nodded, not wanting to speak to Francis at the moment.
"He was being a little obvious about it," Francis went on, inciting Arthur to turn towards him with a very disbelieving look on his face.
"Are you serious, Francis?" he exclaimed. "It seemed to me as though he was flirting with you more than he was with me!" Francis shrugged and turned away to cough into his arm. Arthur got him a glass of water.
"Merci," Francis mumbled as he quickly downed the glass. "Well, of course it would seem that way to you. You never look for those sorts of designs in other people. You are very first-impression oriented, mon cher." Arthur tried very hard not to pout but he wasn't sure how much he was succeeding, judging by the look in Francis' eyes.
"But then how did you figure out?" he asked. Francis gave him a look designed to make him feel stupid.
"Because I am me," he answered simply. "I know what seduction looks like, and I know what flirting looks like, of course I would know when someone is trying to flirt with mon Anglais." Put like that, it did make Arthur look like a bit of an idiot. "And besides he was being very blatant about it."
"I still don't get it," Arthur cut in. "How the hell did you make the connection that he wanted to flirt with me without him telling you?"
"Because he only hit on me when you were in the room," Francis supplied, returning to his eggs, which were done to perfection. Arthur always wondered how the bloody frog could cook so perfectly even when he was clearly engaged in some other activity as well. Stupid French monkey who's cooking is fucking delicious.
"Didn't you notice, Arthur?" Francis urged, going over to the toaster to grab the freshly toasted bread that just popped. "He thought he was so clever, trying indirectly to make you jealous by showing an interest in me. The only problem was he misread his results. He believed that you were upset because he was touching me and not you. Do you get it?" Arthur nodded - a little annoyed that Francis thought it was necessary to explain to him what he already knew - as Francis scraped the eggs onto the piece of toast. He placed the toast on a plate, handed it to Arthur, and returned to the stove. Arthur absently took a bite, noting that the eggs were very fluffy and barely salted, just as he liked them.
"Well, I already knew that," he said impatiently. "He pretty much admitted it today when he told me he wanted me. And once I thought about it, no it wasn't that hard to believe. I only wanted to know how you—" Francis interrupted him and made a show of being excited.
"Oh, mon dieu, Arthur, how smart you are!" he gushed, clapping his hands mockingly. "You figured it out all by yourself!" Arthur grumbled and whacked him lightly over the head.
"Oi, watch it," he warned halfheartedly, taking another bite of his toast. "You're on thin ice as it is. And I don't suppose you'd be interested in telling me why exactly you didn't tell me this when you figured it out?" Now Francis was the one who would look like the idiot, and Arthur was going to enjoy the way he tried to weasel himself out of it. He leaned back against the countertop, food cradled in both hands as he prepared himself for a damn decent show.
Francis took the pan to the sink and began to wash it. He spoke over his shoulder.
"I would have thought that was obvious," he said. Arthur looked at him disbelievingly.
"Enlighten me," he retorted. Francis tossed his head and reached for the dish towel.
"Honestly, Arthur, how would you have reacted if I had gone to you one night and told you that your boss was trying to get you jealous by flirting with me?" he asked, turning to look at Arthur as he put the pan away. Arthur blinked in slight confusion.
"What do you mean?" he inquired. Francis walked over to him and bit off a corner of his toast.
"I mean, Arthur," he replied. "that I do not think you would have responded very well to such an accusation."
"How do you figure, if it's the truth?" Arthur asked, reaching out to flick a stray piece of egg from Francis' cheek.
"Arthur, the number one thing that we have arguments about is your job and I know that if I had said something like that to you, you would take it as me trying to get you to spend less time at work or to get you out favor with your boss," Francis explained, taking the toast from Arthur's hands and taking a larger bite. "You would have responded much more seriously than you did to this, and it might have put our relationship in jeopardy. Between telling you impulsively and waiting for you to figure it out yourself—" He stopped and turned his head to the side to cough loudly and roughly. "—I figured the second option would have far more pleasant results." Arthur's eyebrows rose to his hairline, a feat for brows as large as his, in a look he hoped would convey his incredulity to Francis.
"Pleasant results?" he echoed. "But why trust me not to be reeled in by his seductions?" He pulled Francis' hands up to his face and carefully pulled the last bit of toast from them into his mouth. Francis grinned at him, still coughing lightly.
"As much as it pains me to say it, cher, I know you are a very observant man," he said. "And I figured your oblivion to his pathetic attempts at flirting meant one of two things. Either you were so uninterested in a romantic relationship with him that you believed it impossible for him to be interested as well, or you suspected something and decided to ignore it so that maybe he would get the hint and leave it alone. If you had been interested, you would have seen his advances and would have jumped at the chance to be rid of little old me." Arthur swallowed the food, very much surprised by Francis' rational and logical conclusions.
"Well, look at you, going analytical on me," he bantered, keeping his hold on Francis' hands. "Did you get help writing that down, then?" Francis sent Arthur a withering stare and pulled one of his hands free from Arthur's to get a tissue.
"Shut up, rosbif," he uttered into the tissue as he blew his nose. Arthur smiled smugly, glad to have the last word.
"I can't help that I'm a bit surprised," he continued, taking it as far as he could. "How often do you correctly interpret my character? I believe the score now stands at Francis-1, Arthur-a single digit number followed by lots of zeroes?" He thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of triumph wash through him as he watched Francis turn away from him in something of a snit.
"Well, thank you for eating my snack," Francis huffed, having nothing else to say. Arthur smirked.
"You should be resting anyway, Francis, you're ill," he pointed out, imitating Francis' voice.
"Salaud."
"Love you too, arsehole."
That night, when Arthur retired to his and Francis' shared room, he found Francis virtually asleep, and prepared himself for bed as quietly as he could. When he slipped into bed, he couldn't help but pry one last time.
"Again, Francis, you didn't tell me because…?" he asked in a near-whisper. Francis yawned and stretched languidly.
"Your jealousy was so adorable when you thought he was hitting on me," he replied in a sleepy voice. "I was having far too much fun to tell you." It was so ridiculous that Arthur almost laughed.
Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he leaned over and turned Francis' bedside light off. He caught Francis' eyes before he could lean back and held their blue gaze, noticing that Francis, despite his sleepiness, seemed to be getting quite turned on. Bloody pervert.
Smirking gently, he placed his raised hand by Francis' head and matched the leer that Francis was directing up at him.
"So you were just too flattered by my instinctive need to assert my claim, is that it?" he teased in a low voice. Francis grinned up at him and trailed his hands down Arthur's sides, obviously intent on some getting some groping in before the night was done.
"It is always so precious when you try to prove your dominance," Francis purred huskily. "I was simply enjoying the show."
"Hmm," was the only response Arthur gave as he lowered himself slowly, aiming carefully for Francis' lips. Francis leaned up just as slowly but Arthur could feel the eagerness radiating from him. Just as Arthur was about to claim his lover's lips – and just as Francis' hands reached their destination – the Brit whispered, "You're ill, Francis. Not tonight" and rolled away from Francis to his side of the bed. He smiled at the indignant and utterly outraged squawk he heard from beside him and ignored the kick he received to his leg.
"Cochon," Francis growled under his breath. "Salaud, rosbif, stupide British piece of—"
"Careful love, you'll only make yourself worse if you get agitated like that," Arthur said patiently. "Let's just go to sleep now, shall we?" Francis turned away from him with a huff and Arthur scooted up behind him.
"'Night, Francis," he whispered against Francis' neck with a cheeky grin.
"Fuck you," Francis spat.
"Later."
The End
This = my headcanon. Sans the OC. He was just there to be a catalyst. Yes, I was that desperate for some FrUK.
Huzzah for crap lousy endings and established FrUK relationships! Yes, I watered down both France's and England's character a bit from the usual, sorry about that.
I hope that it makes enough sense for you to get what was going on. It was a lot of fun for me to write but let me know if I screwed anything up or it doesn't make sense, it certainly wouldn't be the first time.
Oh, and the only thing that belongs to me is the dumb plot and the sleazy boss-man who hits on England! Everything else I found on the side of the road and decided to take home with me. Meaning someone else dropped it first. Meaning it's someone else's problem that I am now equipped with FrUK. Thank you, Himaruya!
Ummmmm... that's it!